


Audio Tune Lies, She’s Still Shining

by Aboutnothingness (Thesherlockholmes)



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, I’m just indulging my 10 year old self don’t mind me, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesherlockholmes/pseuds/Aboutnothingness
Kudos: 4





	Audio Tune Lies, She’s Still Shining

_It's alarming, honestly how charming she can be.  
Fooling everyone, telling them she's having fun.  
She says, "you don't want to be like me,  
don’t want to see all the things I've seen,"  
I'm dying, I'm dying._  
– [_Carmen_ , by Lana Del Rey](https://youtu.be/YF8TTeb8_rs)

*

The clock reads 1:00 a.m. The phone besides it is off the hook. Two bottles of pills and water at the ready, but not yet, not yet.

Has the day gone yet, she wonders, mind hazy with exhaustion, feeling far more than weariness, although that too hangs on the edges. She has not moved for a day. Perhaps more, though hours are drowned in sleep and tears. When neither of those, darkness, no matter the light slipping through the closed curtains.

No one would believe this, would they? Can’t believe it—that’s the truth, proved time and again. No one could be said to _understand_ , but one came close to it—Joe. He would sit by her, or open the curtains, or carry her outside for air. After having a rage, that is. Everything falling to pieces, inside her and then, outside.

Heavy between the sheets and alone, the room is a mess. An empty champagne bottle at hand, glass forgone. There will be, she knows from many times previous, pills spilled on the ground she will have to scrounge for—lose them and you lose your mind, unthinkable. Clothes are scattered about, purses discarded, records all in a heap in the corner. Jazz would be nice, but moving is intolerable in this dark.

A blink, a breath, _her_ breath, a memory of someone, some man’s unwelcome pants fill her ears, fill the room. _Memory, memory._

Inescapable.

One pill. Down with water after choking a bit—something’s you never get used to.

Can’t there be quiet for one _minute?_

No one is here to hear the scream.

Surrounded by millions, loved by millions, but… it doesn’t matter, doesn’t count. No one loves her, not here, like this. Not here or better, frying eggs on a Sunday morning. Never. She is worth nothing, in the end. Left when her facade breaks, when she is no longer _Marilyn_ , and simply little Norma Jean.

A girl long discarded, but the past is not forgotten. The twelve-year-old failing math class and locking herself in her room—not a protection—to practice a scene from the Harlow movie she’s watched at the cinema ten times. She is still her, looking out the orphanage window, crying for _mama_ who works at MGM studios; she will never know her. She feared becoming her, so she became something else, something even better.

Underneath it though, well… a creature to be hushed will barbiturates and alcohol. There’s too much _horror–_

A sob, a wretched sound wrenched from her throat, her breast, her abused body, her soul.

A pill. Choke it down.

Still see the dawn rising.

Still hide in the woman you’ve made.

To be rid of it. The bitter sweetness of Shakespeare— _shed this mortal coil._ Years of Strasberg and what’s it amounted to? More dumb blonde’s, she’s just that, only that. Only that.

That’s no life. Not taken seriously, not respected. An image, sex to sell.

There is no point to it. Nothing will change, no matter what she does. She built this monster and she can destroy it.

It’s so easy, tried before, but for real now. This time no one will resurrect the goddess they want only for themselves. No one for your convenience now, no one to make you millions while dying piece by piece under the makeup.

A handful, properly now, dissolved in the bubbles. Open, pour, discard. Over and over.

Bottoms up!

*

Wracked with fire, light comes in through the curtains. Sick everywhere. Still she lives, still the almighty wills her on. Successfully unsuccessful.

A creature to be rebuilt once more.

Still see the dawn rising.

Still hide in the woman you’ve made.


End file.
